


Overheated

by Anonymous



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: F/M, Fingerfucking, First Person, First Time, all that good shit, extended sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-05 22:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10318430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Then there was the party. I was wearing a new dress, something considerably shorter and lower cut than anything I would have considered before. But I'd been shopping with my best friend and she'd told me, quite honestly, that it was a dress that said, 'fuck me, I'm yours.' Something reckless in me said that there would never be a better chance.





	

The party was in full swing, the babble of voices like an ocean wave, rising and falling and rising again as if everyone in the room was somehow attuned to something bigger and deeper. 

I'd only had half a glass of wine, but you wouldn't have known it from that metaphor. But it wasn't the alcohol that was making me lightheaded. It was just… Jeremy. 

We'd met a year or so ago, through a mutual friend who happened to be my publisher. At first it had just been the occasional conversation at a party, but eventually we'd found common ground and had lunch together a few times, and then once a month or so, and then more recently the month had been reduced to a week and a half between lunches. It probably couldn't get any more frequent without becoming something like a date.

I wouldn't have minded in the slightest.

I knew what people said about him, of course – that he was crude and loud and egotistical and more than a little out of date with the modern world. Most of it was true, too. But… I liked him. Not because of all those things, not even despite them. I just liked him.

And I wanted him. At first I just wanted his attention, wanted him to think I was clever and amusing, the way anyone wants that from someone _they_ consider clever and amusing. But after the first few times we met I started to see something more physical in him. The way his eyes focused in on me when I talked, the way he leaned in as if listening with his whole body. The broad sweep of his shoulders and the long line of his legs. The dip of his collarbone and the way stubble shadowed his jaw. His forearms – Christ, I could have written a whole novel about those forearms. The way he laughed. That was when I knew I'd got it bad, because I started thinking about how I could make him laugh in bed, how I could kiss that laugh and turn it into a moan.

I tried not to let it show, but I didn't think it was entirely successful. He was too clever not to have noticed. He didn't say anything about it, of course, but he didn't stop inviting me to lunch, either.

Then there was the party. I was wearing a new dress, something considerably shorter and lower cut than anything I would have considered before. But I'd been shopping with my best friend and she'd told me, quite honestly, that it was a dress that said, 'fuck me, I'm yours.' Something reckless in me said that there would never be a better chance.

It wasn't particularly out of place at the party, which was one of Jeremy's typical dos, casual but smart. Some of the people there I recognized, publishing people and television types and musicians. Some of them I knew as casual friends, occasional dinner companions or just people I saw at the same types of parties and had become reasonably familiar with. Some of them were people I didn't know at all. Everyone had dressed up somewhat, either in the realm of 'classy' or in the realm of 'weird and wonderful,' or some combination of the two. The clothing provided an entertainment all its own. One person who I didn't recognize was wearing a pale blue suit and a tie in the shape of a mermaid's tail; another had elaborately-drawn eyeliner and leather trousers and a shirt that barely lived up to the name.

And there was Jeremy, circulating through the crowd, one hand holding a glass of wine and the other always shaking someone's hand or patting someone on the back. I could hear him laugh from across the room, a sound that made something inside me quiver. He was effortlessly charming, or so it seemed. Everyone was pleased to see him.

I was definitely pleased to see him. We'd had lunch a week ago and spent some of it talking about the party, and he'd promised me it would be full of good food and interesting people. There was something in the way he talked about the night that made me think, maybe— Well, I couldn't help hoping. Hence the dress.

I would have enjoyed myself even it had only been about the party. For a while I was drawn into a discussion of genre definitions with a cadre of publishers – the sort of conversation that might sound boring to outsiders but which drew strong opinions from those of us in the industry. When that broke up – with amiable cursing on each side – I drifted onto the edge of a group talking about extreme sports, something about which I knew literally nothing. But that was the beauty of a party like this. You could always find someone willing to talk, if you were willing to listen.

But then, too, there was Jeremy. I kept coming back to him. His eyes seemed to catch mine from across the room every few minutes, and it made me flush harder every time. Once, he stepped past me on the way to somewhere else, and he put his hands to my shoulders to help himself ease by. I swayed closer to him, an entirely involuntary movement, then caught myself with a jerk, realizing that I was probably making a complete fool of myself. Jeremy didn't say anything, but I felt his hands squeeze my shoulders just slightly before he moved on. My skin was hot where he'd touched me. I wanted him to touch me _everywhere_ , I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted— Well. 'Fuck me, I'm yours' pretty much covered it.

After an hour or so – and when the half a glass of wine had been extended to two – I realized I was getting overheated. Physically overheated and emotionally overheated and definitely sexually overheated. So when I could extract myself from the conversation gracefully I pleaded a need for more wine and slipped away into the kitchen. It was quieter, the voices like a background hum, and there was cool air coming in through the open window. I let myself stand there, looking out into the dark at nothing in particular, breathing, counting seconds from one to thirty and then back again.

Behind me, I heard the kitchen door swing open and shut. I tried to prepare myself to turn around and smile at some stranger, to pretend I'd just needed a relief from the heat and the noise instead of needing to be away from him for a few moments. Just long enough that my heart would stop hammering.

But before I could turn I heard footsteps cross the room, and then the faint, tangy scent that I'd come to recognize as Jeremy's cologne. "All right?" he said. His voice was like a caress. 

"I— Yeah, I'm all right," I said, trying to make it come out even. My heart was pounding harder than ever. I didn't dare turn to look at him. 

He stepped closer and set his right hand on my shoulder, lightly at first and then – a brief hesitation – more firmly when I didn't protest or move away. This close I could feel how warm he was. Then he was closer still, very close. Too close to have this be anything but what it was.

"Tell me if this is unwelcome," he said. 

_Oh god,_ I thought. _This is happening._ "It isn't," I said. "Unwelcome, that is." Jeremy's hand slid down over my arm and then back up; I shivered at the feeling of his broad palm touching so much skin. "Ah— Jeremy—"

"You're driving me mad," he confessed. His mouth was so close that I could feel his breath against my hair. "The way you look, the way you look at me. I can't stop watching you. Wanting you. Not just tonight."

"Christ, me too," I said. I turned my head to the side so that I could kiss his knuckles, open-mouthed and full of promise. Now that I had him here, I didn't want to leave any doubt as to how much I wanted this. He groaned softly and trailed his fingertips across my collarbone, dipping downwards and then skating his palm across the exposed tops of my breasts when I didn't object. My nipples went hard and tight, and I sucked in a low, shaky breath. This wasn't even remotely a good place to be doing this, but then Jeremy pressed closer and I reached back to put one hand on his hip and keep him there. I could feel the hard length of his cock and it made me hotter than ever. "I've been thinking about this for months," I said.

" _Yes_ ," he said. "Sometimes I wake up hard and all I can think about is getting my hands on you. Getting my mouth on you." He kissed the top of my ear, parted his lips and teased it with his tongue.

I bit down on my bottom lip. "Fuck yes," I said. "Put your— _fuck._ Put your hands on me."

He dipped his fingers into the hollow between my breasts, slipping them to the side and under the edge of my bra to find one aching nipple. His other hand went to my hip, fingers curling in tight and then sliding down to touch the hem of my dress. I knew he was thinking about hitching it up, getting his fingers in me and getting me off right then and there. I was so wet already, it probably wouldn't take more than a minute. I almost let him. But after a moment's struggle, discretion won out.

"Later," I said. "I want to take my time with you."

He growled. "Tease."

"You like it," I said, and he huffed out a laugh. 

"I do," he admitted. "Minx." But he lifted his hands – I shivered at the loss of his warmth. "Pour yourself another glass of wine," he said. "And while you're drinking it, think about what I should do with you."

I turned around and met his gaze for the first time – and that was even more intoxicating than his touch had been. "You're not helping," I said, but it came out breathy, and I knew he could see in my eyes that this wasn't just about sex. His mouth turned up into a soft smile.

"I'll help you when we're finally alone," he said. "In the meantime you'll just have to handle things yourself." I swatted at him for that, but he just laughed and leaned in to kiss me.

I got through the rest of the party somehow; I don't have much memory of that now. Probably I gave short shrift to any number of interesting people. I definitely had to keep running my wrists under the cold tap in the loo just to cool things down – and then Jeremy would come by and touch my shoulder or my arm and I'd get worked up all over again.

But eventually the last few guests said goodbye and made their way out. One of them was a friend of mine and she gave me a raised eyebrow and a 'call me' gesture as she put on her coat. I just grinned and nodded.

Jeremy barely let the door shut behind them before he turned, pressing me back against the wall of the front hallway, kissing me wild and hot. "Christ, woman," he said, in between kisses. "I knew I was going to get to have you and you _still_ drove me half out of my bloody mind." 

I laughed. He kissed my jaw and then worked his way down the line of my neck, half kiss and half bite. I leaned back against the wall to give him better access.

"You didn't make it easy for me, either," I said. "I very nearly did _handle things_ myself, but I decided that wasn't what I wanted." Jeremy groaned, but the rough clench of his hands eased a little as he trailed them up over my breasts. I shivered and had to bite back a whimper when he started rubbing slow circles over one nipple. He kissed my jaw again, the corner of my mouth and then finally a full kiss, softer this time.

"What do you want, then?" he said, and despite the feeling of his cock hard against my thigh, there was a sweetness to the question.

"Bend me over the sofa," I said, breathless. "Get your fingers in me, like you wanted to. Make me come. Then you can take me to bed and fuck me."

"I'll make you scream," Jeremy said.

I lifted one hand to grasp the collar of his shirt and pull him close. "Don't make me wait," I said. 

He growled and kissed me, then grabbed my hips and tugged me into the sitting room so that I could brace my arms against the sofa cushions. I spread my legs and he muscled up against me from behind. One arm curled around my waist to hold me close and the other one tugged my skirt all the way up.

Then his fingers were in me, pressing firm and deep. " _Fuck,_ " I groaned, arching back against him, wanting to feel him everywhere. "Yes, fuck, that's good." I was wet already, had been for hours, and it felt amazing to have him touching me at last.

"You're gorgeous," he said. "God, your tits, I want to suck on them for hours." His thumb started circling my clit, sending shivers all the way through me.

"That sounds— ah— good," I said. His whole hand flexed against me as he fucked me with his fingers and I rocked into the touch, clenching around him just to chase that extra little bit of sensation. "Let's put that on the agenda."

"I'll put _you_ on the bloody agenda," he said, which made no sense but I couldn't care, not when he was rutting himself against my arse, panting. I was close already, my moans getting louder with each breath. I could feel sweat collecting under my hairline and under my breasts and in the hollows of my elbows. Each thrust of his fingers made me shudder. 

Somehow he managed to get the other hand up and cup one of my breasts, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. " _Christ_ ," I said. "Yes, fuck, just—" He pinched me again, harder, curled his fingers inside me just so, and I shoved back against him and came with a shout.

He carried me through it, still fucking me with his fingers until the last shudders were dying away. I sighed out a breath and lifted one hand to touch the back of his wrist. He eased out of me, stroking his thumb over my skin, still sticky-wet. "Good?" he said.

"Quite good," I said, still breathing hard. 

" _Quite_ good?" He sounded outraged, and I found myself grinning. I turned round in his arms and looked up at him from under my eyelashes.

"Well," I said. "I don't want you to get complacent."

Jeremy laughed. "You're not going to stroke my ego?" he said. I slid my hands down over his chest and stomach, cupped his cock through his trousers and gave it a slow squeeze.

"Oh, you want me to stroke your _ego_?" I said. "If you insist…" I started to let go, but he grabbed my wrist and held it where it was. The touch was enough to make my heart start pounding. I was still quivering a little from the strength of that orgasm, but I suspected I could be ready to go again rather quickly. He was ready, too – I could feel it in the way his cock throbbed, the way his hips rocked forwards into my hand when I started massaging him. "Take me to bed," I said. "If I enjoy myself, I might even upgrade you from 'quite good' to 'really quite good.'"

He lowered his head close enough that he could murmur in my ear. "And what if I make you scream?"

"Gold star," I said. "Repeat performance. Possibly a little blue ribbon that you could hang 'round your—"

He kissed me then, and carried on kissing me all the way into the bedroom, and for quite a while after that.

 

In the end, he made me scream three times.


End file.
